Kiss Me Goodnight

by Michele Zurlo

  Hell of a Monday.

  On Friday, I found myself in court. No, not because I lied to Thomas. This hearing had been scheduled a month ago because I’d been caught walking a dog without a leash or license, and I’d chosen to fight the ticket. Alec had called me Tuesday to say the ax started falling after I left. I’d wanted to warn him, but I have a tendency to veer off topic when I’m upset, and by “off topic” I mean I lie. Who knows what kind of whopper I’d have told Alec if I’d tried to warn him?

  So I didn’t.

  I also refused to feel bad. When I left, I’d held my head high and walked out with my dignity intact, letting people draw their own conclusions. Sometimes that’s the better lie.

  Court moved slowly. Of course, it would have moved much more quickly if I hadn’t sat here for three hours before someone told me I had to take a number. Then the judge adjourned for lunch before he got to me.

  I found a Starbucks, but no Jimmy John’s. With limited options, I ended up getting a sandwich from a local deli. This was a new experience for me. I’d only ever gone to chain restaurants before.

  As a point of habit, I went to actually eat at Starbucks. Long and narrow, this one was even smaller than the coffee place near Pritchett Freight Services. I was lucky to find a table with a view out the front.

  That’s when He of the Teal Eyes appeared. He’d been on my mind a lot this week, when I wasn’t preoccupied with how to format my résumé so each section consisted of six lines. Not many men spent time on my mind. Even Thomas’s sculpted face had faded from my memory. Dylan, however, sent my heart and libido into overdrive. Thinking about him usually drove me to spend some quality time with Davey, which reminds me—I need to pick up more batteries.

  He (Dylan, not Davey—I would have fainted if Davey Havok showed up) sauntered into the shop. There was an open seat at my table. It’s worth noting that many other tables also had open seats. People seemed to be eating in odd-numbered groups, but all the table/chair arrangements came in even numbers. This put me in a bit of a sticky spot.

  Speaking of sticky spots, my mouth went a little dry just looking at Dylan. Today he wore long shorts with a colorful plaid pattern. It was a horrible design, but somehow he made it look great. The way they hugged his firm ass probably had something to do with this. I also saw that I was right about him having long legs. Long, sexy, strong legs that could hold me up in the shower while we…ahem. Time to stop lusting after the hot married guy who kisses like a god in my fantasies.

  His shirt, vintage Nine Inch Nails—and by that I mean Pretty Hate Machine, not any of the regurgitated tracks they’ve been pushing off as new for the past ten-plus years—stretched across his shoulders in a way that emphasized the solid musculature going on there.

  He looked around as he came in, automatically searching for precious seating as he took his place in line. There was plenty. Really. But instead of noting that and minding his own damn business, his gaze fell on me and stayed there. I think it took him a few moments to place me, but then a slow grin spread across his face, and all I could think about was how those lips would feel as they worked their way down my—Alice Hollie Hallem (I totally didn’t luck out with names), you stop that right now!

  In the cool of the overly air-conditioned coffeehouse, I fanned myself. The barista greeted Dylan, and he turned toward her as I sipped my iced latte. Should have gone for something warm. At least then I’d be able to explain the flush staining my chest.

  While I continued trying not to have wet daydreams about a certain married male, my mind wandered to the memory of the way his skin had felt on mine. My stomach did a flippy thing that felt curiously good. At this point, I wasn’t sure if the memory was actually that good, or if I’m suffering the effects of my drought. Either way, that’s a depressing thought, so I stopped thinking it and distracted myself by counting passing cars instead.

  Plus, I really didn’t want to see him. When you accidentally spill coffee all over a hot married guy and then display crazy OCD tendencies in the ladies’ room, you never want to encounter the person who witnessed your folly ever again, no matter how hot he is. Even if you slipped up two nights ago and moaned his name instead of Davey’s. The vibrator didn’t stop performing, so clearly it didn’t care. The universe has a sick sense of humor.

  A figure blocked my view of the traffic, which was probably a good thing because I’d lost count and that frustrated me. Of all the half-occupied tables, Dylan chose mine. Seriously, dude. Leave me to my misery. I wouldn’t have minded ogling you from across the room.

  He smiled, calm and welcoming, as he slid into the chair across from me and settled his coffee and muffin on the table. “We meet again.”

  Immediately, I looked at my coffee, assessing how much was left and the likelihood of it landing in his lap should I suffer another unfortunate mishap.

  I wanted to mumble another apology, but he stuck out his hand. “Dylan.”

  Was he senile? I already knew his name. How could I forget? What the hell. I shook his hand. He had a good grip: firm but not too firm. He didn’t try to trace his thumb across my wrist or anything like that, but he still managed to light sparks where I wished he wouldn’t.

  “Lacey.” I’m sure my smile was strained. I extracted my hand. It tingled, and I did not have the urge to wash it. “I remember you.”

  He tore off a bite-sized chunk of his muffin. Blueberry. “I wasn’t sure. You left so suddenly. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, but here you are.”

  Yes, here I am, once again having lunch with a sinfully sexy married man. The universe is conspiring against me. I wish to hell it would stop testing my resolve. I was serious when I swore off married men.

  “And here you are.” Wonderful reply. I’m so witty sometimes. Maybe now I should spill my coffee on his lap and run out the back door. Another morsel of that muffin disappeared into his mouth. I wanted to lick the crumbs from his fingers.

  He smiled like he knew what I was thinking. “What brings you downtown on such a nice day?”

  “Court,” I said. “I’ve been caught flouting the leash laws, and now I have to pay for my crime.”

  He nodded in commiseration. “They take actual money and screw you by making you take time off work.”

  I didn’t currently have a job, so that second part wasn’t a problem for me, but it very well could be for most people. I was tempted to spin a yarn about the issue, but in a curiously uncharacteristic move, I found myself unable to tell the lie. I coughed, choking on the words.

  Dylan thought I was choking on the bite of my sandwich. He waited, an expression of watchful concern on his face.

  When I finished my coughing fit, I took a sip of coffee. “Thanks for not pounding me on the back.” I hate when people do that.

  “It doesn’t usually help.”

  The rest of that muffin disappeared between his luscious lips, and I could only conjure a vision of him working on another muff—mine: his head of gloriously dark hair perched between my legs, his teal eyes looking up to make sure I was enjoying what he was doing. Ahhh, Davey. I’m going to need you tonight.

  “Do you know where The Majestic is?” he asked.

  I pointed to my left. “About three blocks that way. Are you headed there?”

  Color rose up his neck and stained his cheeks a very masculine shade of pink. It was cute. He tried to divert my attention by finishing off his coffee. It didn’t quite work. “I’m performing there tonight. I’ll be meeting my band in about half an hour. If you stop by after you dazzle the judge, you could check out our rehearsal.”

  If it dresses like a rock star, apparently it is a rock star. I leaned closer, gooseflesh making its way up my spine. “Tell me you’re an AFI cover band, and I’ll sleep with you.”

  Chances are, if he kissed me with enough passion to fulfill the promise his eyes kept making, I’d sleep with him anyway. No dating, though. I had to stick to my guns on at least one part of my pledge. That way I could hate myself a li
ttle less in the morning. Ahh, check it out! I’m lying inside my head instead of blurting them out. Does that count as progress?

  His breath caught. It’s a heady thing to see—a man who can’t breathe because of the way you’re looking at him. He licked his lips, and I tracked the move with my predatory, home-wrecker senses.

  “We’re not a cover band, but we play a wicked version of ‘Endlessly, She Said.’”

  I sucked air like an excited idiot. It couldn’t have been sexy, and maybe that made up for flirting with someone I should be avoiding. “Do you mean every word?”

  He grinned, and my heart did a few illegal flip-flops. “Every one.”

  I liked that he played along. I could have bantered Davey’s lyrics all day, but I suddenly remembered where I was and what I was doing. The urge to wash my hands pressed down upon me, a heavy, familiar weight.

  Bad Lacey.

  Sometimes routine can calm me down: I had coffee after breakfast and with lunch, which was again a sandwich. It had been tasty, and now every time I ate one, I would be lusting for this piece of heaven. I grabbed for my coffee, my hand darting out, and of course I knocked it over.

  Dylan’s reflexes were better this time. In one smooth motion, he scooted back and escaped the path of my favorite liquid. He was a quick learner. I threw a stack of napkins on top of it, hoping to catch the leading edge before it hit the floor. Dylan threw another stack on, and together, we avoided catastrophe.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m not usually so clumsy.”

  “Can I get you another cup?” He flashed a smile, one that said he found my propensity for spilling coffee on him amusing instead of annoying. I would be annoyed if someone kept spilling coffee on me, no matter how cute he was.

  I shook my head slowly, as if he’d asked another question, one I both wanted him to ask and dreaded hearing. The coffee was Fate’s way of telling me to stop tempting her. “I’ve reached my quota for the day. Any more and I’ll turn into a coffee monster.”

  “Coffee monster?” He pressed his finger to his muffin wrapper, gathering the sugary crumbs.

  “Yeah, you know. Jittery, stays up all night, turns into a hag in the morning. I try to avoid showing myself in such an unflattering light.” In a perfect world, I would be able to drink six cups a day. Because it wasn’t perfect, I made do with two.

  He nodded sagely. “I’ve both met and been that monster. However, I just can’t see how light could fail to flatter you.”

  Damn. He was good. Those teal eyes never strayed from my face, which was a shame because the V of my shirt emphasized the curves of my breasts. I actually looked pretty good today. The weather had even cooperated, keeping the humidity low so my curls didn’t kink up and frizz out.

  Heat didn’t rise to my cheeks at his compliment. I’m not much of a blusher, mostly because I don’t care what people think about me. I did grow warm, however, because being near Dylan lit fires inside me that my beloved Davey might need help quenching tonight. I might have to break out Jared. My boys could work in tandem.

  Dylan was so sincere—and in a public place too. Maybe I’d been mistaken. Maybe he wasn’t married. I decided to dig in a safe place. I started with his son.

  “So, you’re flying solo today? No kid?”

  Shades of confusion washed over his face. He frowned, staring at me. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t have a kid. Why would you…? Oh. Monty isn’t mine. He’s my nephew.”

  The look on my face must have communicated my disbelief.

  “No, seriously. He sometimes calls me ‘Pops’ because he thinks it’s funny how much he looks like me.” Dylan leaned closer, beckoning me to join him in conspiracy. “I’m only fourteen years older than him.”

  He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would deny having a son. He’d been openly affectionate with the boy. Okay, then. He was married to the hot blonde, and they were childless. After all, he’d called her “Audra,” not “your mother.”

  I drank in his face, up close and personal. He was less than four feet from me, and I could see every fleck that made up the improbable color of his eyes. I memorized the shape of his eyebrows, even noting the slender scar that ran through the right one. His cheekbones were high and angular, giving his face a square-ish shape. The strong line of his jaw helped with that as well. His hair fell over his forehead, and I wanted to brush it back to see what kind of hairline he was hiding.

  If there’d been time, I would have counted every piece of stubble on his face. Fortunately for both of us, I came back to myself with a jolt. I jerked up, sitting hard on my chair. I hadn’t realized I’d lifted my bottom as I’d leaned forward. Now my ass hurt. Self-flagellation isn’t my thing.

  Served me right. I folded the wrapper that had held my sandwich and shoved it in my empty paper cup. “I have to get back to court. It was nice to see you.”

  As I stood, he grabbed my wrist. It wasn’t a harsh gesture, but it managed to be forceful. “Will you come by afterward?”

  “Maybe. If it doesn’t run too late.”

  He released me, and I wished he hadn’t. He had a firm, sure grip, and I missed the feel of a man’s hands on me. He settled back in his chair, that flirty smile on his face. “You can come to the show, but I probably won’t have a lot of time to spend with you.”

  If he was rehearsing, he wouldn’t really be spending time with me either. Perhaps I’d found a loophole. Damn. I hadn’t been hunting for one. I nodded and fled. I’m not good at ending conversations, especially those I’m not sure I should be having.

  Had I just made a date with a married man?

  Chapter Three

  THE DOG I’D BEEN CAUGHT having out without her leash isn’t mine. Sadie belongs to my stepfather, John. I have trouble talking about him for a lot of reasons, none of which has anything to do with him. I haven’t been the easiest stepdaughter, but he’s never lost patience with me.

  I think I would die if he did. Of all the adults in my life, he’s the only one I can talk to without worrying about what I say. He knows I lie. He knows when I lie and usually why—even when I don’t—and he’s taught me to be pretty self-aware. John is a singular human being, and I owe the fact that I function as well as I do to him.

  Enough of that, though.

  In court, I lied instead of pleading guilty, which I should have done because I did take Sadie off her leash and let her roam free right in front of a sign that warned of the penalties for doing so. Had I seen law enforcement in the parking lot watching? Yes and no. I saw him, but I didn’t notice him. It’s really not the same thing.

  I opened my mouth with every intention of pleading guilty. Earlier intentions aside, I had caused enough trouble for the time being. But then I said, “She was dying, your honor. She was dying, and she wanted one last run around the park. She couldn’t even run, really. She just shuffled along.”

  Though she hadn’t wandered far that day, Sadie could run circles around me when she chose to.

  Tears poured from my eyes. I put my hand over my heart. “She died that night, your honor. We went home, and she looked up at me with her sad eyes. She could hardly see me through her cataracts. Then she licked my hand, laid down on the floor next to her bed, and died.”

  I broke down, barely whispering that last part. The bailiff caught me and put me in a chair. She clucked soothing sounds until my sobs subsided to hiccups. She must have been a dog person.

  The judge stared at me like he’d seen one too many hysterical females. He wasn’t old. I pegged him at somewhere around thirty-five, which meant he saw me more as a piece of meat than a daughter. I prefer to play the daughter angle, but if I’d found him at all attractive, I might have flirted. I can flirt and cry. Fake emotion isn’t difficult. It’s the real stuff that bewilders me.

  He paged through a few documents and cleared his throat. “Ms. Hallem, the license of the dog in question does not match your address, and it doesn’t have your name on it.”

  Well, I didn’t have a do
g. I probably should have just said so, but could I take the easy way out? Nope.

  I straightened up. “She lives with my mother. My apartment doesn’t let us have dogs. So, the license is in her name, but Sadie was my baby. My mom is quite frail. She has a wheelchair, but she hates to use it, so she doesn’t get out often. I took Sadie to the park every day.” I swayed a little and slumped back in the chair. The stress of discussing my deceased companion was too much to bear.

  Sadie is actually very much John’s baby. She’s also alive and kicking. She might be old, but she’s healthy and tenacious. So is my mother.

  With an aggravated sigh, the judge dismissed my case and gave me a stern verbal warning. But when an authority figure buys into my bullshit, it just encourages me. That’s one reason I didn’t tell John and my mom about the ticket. John would’ve come with me and done all the talking. He would’ve known I’d feed the judge a lie, and he was quite good at making me tell the truth. I’m convinced he’s the real reason my mom didn’t throw me out by the time I was sixteen.

  Lying is like washing my hands. Sometimes I just have to do it. I wouldn’t call it a compulsion, though, because it actually soothes me. Truly, it does. And anyway, people with compulsions can’t help themselves. I can. Or maybe it’s the other way around? In any event, I don’t take medication for it, so it’s not that big of a deal.

  After court, I meant to go home, but I found myself walking past the parking garage and in the direction of The Majestic. I’d been to the club before. It wasn’t historic, and I didn’t see anything majestic about the faux-wood paneling on it that some enterprising person had painted teal. And not a startling shade of teal like Dylan’s eyes. The hue had been dulled and weathered by time, and now it hovered somewhere between trendy and dive.